


morning coffee

by mangozaya



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, just projecting on chan and therefore not meant to be a study on chan himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangozaya/pseuds/mangozaya
Summary: No matter how silent Chan stays, whether restless in the single-seater or nestled between Jisung and Changbin, small allowances of touch and comfort all mean something.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83





	morning coffee

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: trauma manifested as flinching, self harm in form of scratching, non-specific descriptions of depression

On the worst days of the month, Chan’s reactions are often muted.

He ghosts lightly across their floors, falling into the backdrop of their apartment, disappearing much like sunlight during the dead of winter, but Changbin has come to understand that he can count on a few delicate things. Chan will, more often than not, come out from their room and manage to be distantly present in their shared spaces, and Changbin counts this as a victory.

Chan will shuffle slowly around them, quietly withdrawn in all ways but physical, but he’ll eventually settle between Jisung’s thighs or in Changbin’s lap, closing his eyes once more to tune out much of the white noise that settles on evenings like these, and Changbin knows that running his fingers through Chan’s flattened hair is acceptable, as long as Chan indicates so with a gentle nudge of his forehead against Changbin’s thigh.

Changbin catalogs all these small ques and more, because no matter how silent Chan stays, whether restless in the single-seater or nestled between Jisung and Changbin, these small allowances of touch and comfort all mean something.

Changbin’s thankful for these steps forward, because he knows they’re not small.

✰

Chan still flinches, but just not in the ways he used to.

It takes a bit before Jisung recognizes this as a sort of progress.

It’s still a reflex, because the urge to jump is always going to simmer somewhere underneath the thin of his prickling skin everytime the front door slams a little too hard—the way it rattles on its hinges as it chases a gust of wind, momentarily losing the battle and deceivingly stalling—and Chan gets caught up staring after whoever’s just walked out, eyes piercing and hand twitching by his side, grasping at something Jisung won’t ever be able to see.

Jisung is usually up the earliest, quietly watching as Chan physically shakes himself from the dull shock, his eyes softening as Chan turns around and carries on as nothing’s occurred, offering Jisung an additional pot of dark roast on the kettle while he pours himself a chamomile tea every morning. They always leave enough in the kettle for Changbin—who often wakes last when he isn’t working the midnight shift—taking care to leave out a single spoon of sugar and a small cup of creamer. Jisung carries on with his own cup of mostly black coffee, and waits for Chan’s arms to wrap around his waist, a warm cheek pressed against his own as Jisung smiles into his mostly empty mug.

Chan’s love is unwavering, though often hidden underneath layers of sweaters with a slightly stilted smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Jisung’s never doubted what's not immediately obvious. Sometimes, you don’t need to unravel to find proof of what’s always been.

✰

Chan once described it much like a rush of blood in his ears, flooding up the space in his head and leaving him so heavy that he physically buckles under its weight—Jisung never gets a clear picture of what _it_ is, but it’s not tangible; some things are best left uncovered—but _it_ leaves little room for much else to settle, and Chan’s takes up the couch on these days, unmoving for what might be hours.

He’s warm and drowsy, drowning in Changbin’s collection of oversized sweaters and wrapped in Jisung’s softest blanket scarf, and Chan’s visible comfort hides tracks of reddened skin, of faint markers from bluntly raking his nails in the shower, but it’s never routinely commented on. Jisung will instead quietly offer to bathe Chan on days when even sitting upright requires far too much effort that his arms can’t offer, and Changbin will know to come in moments later, his gentle touch conveying what he knows his words cannot.

It’s unfortunate how the streaming light from the bathroom window only manages a muted yellow, but it’s enough for Jisung to read the labels on various bottles of conditioner, and he chooses his own coconut scented products, taking care to gently trace along the ridges of Chan’s bent spine while Changbin massages Chan’s hair, letting Chan drift off while he leans heavily against the droplets of water on the glass pane of their shower.

It’s often amusing how Chan never quite times his showers correctly, and his frequent midnight showers are always accompanied with the chill of their balcony, and Jisung can’t help a snort everytime he catches Chan rushing into his room with his town barely in place, a disgruntled _why is it always so cold_ floating just near enough to where Jisung can hear.

Finding a temperature balance between the three of them is often a disaster, because while Chan and Jisung prefer to curl up in their respective sweaters with a temperature that runs a bit colder, Changbin prefers the heater running with his light cotton fits and sleeves so short that it’s difficult to classify his shirts as such, and they take care to look each other dead-in-the-eye as one of them switches the thermostat one point higher or lower. Commotion is soon to follow afterwards, and Changbin always finds himself underneath his boyfriends, being pinched and prodded at with enough consistency that his arms grow lazy from his half-hearted attempt to push them both off, ending in a pile that’s a splay of limbs and nestled chins against shoulders. They’ll later settle on the temperature of whoever is making dinner, and call it fair.

Changbin, more often than not, regardless of dinner arrangements, will quietly press on the small arrow indicating _up_ , and the temperature remains slightly chilly.

It’s a small thing to secretly give in to, all things considered.

✰

Sometimes, Chan doesn’t come out of his room in the morning, and Jisung just sets the kettle of coffee instead.

Changbin will reach the kitchen table no more than an hour later, commenting only on Jisung’s choice of dark coffee being _a thing of nightmares_ , but will grin into his own mug of caramel light roast and allow Jisung to kick him smartly under the table.

Their routines tend to follow as normal. Changbin might have the occasional afternoon shift, and he will quietly click the door behind him as he leaves their apartment, leaving Jisung to wander into the living room, slumping down on the couch and connecting his laptop to their television, identifies and numbers scattered in spreadsheets for him to organize until his lunch break.

Changbin will return home in due time, and Jisung might greet him at the door, tucking into the familiar warmth of Changbin’s large parka, curling himself into his boyfriend’s chest as he shakes his head into the scratchy material, which Changbin has come to understand means that the house must have been quiet for some time now.

The silence never really lasts. Chan makes it to dinner a few minutes late, catching sight of the steaming heap of chicken on a few layers of skewers, with Jisung having taken over preparation for the night. Chan melts into Changbin’s side as they doze off against each other—one tired from an uncoordinated sleep schedule of randomized work shifts, and the other just _tired_.

They’re both equally deserving of rest.

Jisung slides right up beside Chan, blowing lightly against his cheek, causing Chan to scrunch his nose in protest as Jisung hides a smile into the slightly damp material of Chan’s sweater, and it’s a few moments before any of them slowly unravel from each other, settling down to quietly load their plates with the amount they choose.

Changbin stands up a moment later, seeming to remember something as Chan looks on a bit blankly at Changbin’s padded steps towards the corner of their kitchen, and Changbin moves to tap against a resting kettle of heated water, looking at Chan expectantly.

Chan gives a small smile that lifts the corner of his mouth and crescents his dimples, his eyes shining with something a little more than drowsiness. He opens his mouth a few times, a little raspy in tone and struggling slightly to speak for the first time in nearly a day, but Jisung and Changbin can clearly hear him against the light hum of the refrigerator.

They take care to listen, and that’s sometimes all that matters.

“Yeah, a cup of tea sounds nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> you’re allowed to ask for and accept help from people who love you ♡
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/izayashu)


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